"A real estate agent.Lived across town."
"I don't know any real estate agents."His brow creased."Why would someone put a real estate agent in my freezer?It makes no sense."
"Mr.DiMatteo," Isla shifted topics, "tell us about buying the restaurant from Vincent Carlisle."
The change in his demeanor was immediate.Something shuttered behind his eyes, his nervous energy condensing into something darker, more guarded.
"Vincent."He said the name like it left a bad taste in his mouth."What about him?"
"You purchased Bella Ristorante from him eighteen months ago.We're trying to understand the history of the establishment."
DiMatteo was quiet for a moment, his restless energy suddenly stilled.When he spoke again, his voice had dropped, the frantic edge replaced by something that sounded almost like unease.
"Vincent Carlisle was a broken man when I met him.His wife and daughter had just died—a terrible accident, you understand.Terrible.And he wanted to sell the restaurant fast.He didn't care about the price, didn't negotiate, didn't even want to talk about the terms.He just wanted it gone."DiMatteo's gaze drifted toward the cold fireplace."I got a good deal.A very good deal.But dealing with him..."
"What about dealing with him?"James prompted.
DiMatteo seemed to consider his words carefully."I have been in this business for thirty years.I've met all kinds of people—happy people, sad people, angry people.But Vincent..."He shook his head slowly."I have never seen a man with such dark energy around him.Like something was eating him from the inside.When I sat across from him at the closing, it was like sitting across from a ghost.Like he was already dead, but his body hadn't caught up yet."
Isla felt a chill that had nothing to do with the February cold seeping through the windows.
"Have you had any contact with Carlisle since the sale?"she asked.
"No.None.I tried once, a few months after—wanted to ask about some of the suppliers he'd used—but he never returned my call.I heard he moved somewhere outside town.Kept to himself."DiMatteo's expression hardened slightly."I thought he would get better, you know?Time heals, people say.But some men, when they lose everything..."He left the thought unfinished.
Isla closed her notebook and stood.James rose beside her, catching her signal.
"Thank you for your time, Mr.DiMatteo.We'll be in touch if we have more questions.In the meantime, please don't leave town."
DiMatteo followed them to the door, his earlier panic resurfacing."But what about my restaurant?When can I reopen?The health department, the police, everyone is giving me different answers.I'm losing thousands of dollars every day—"
"That's a question for the health department, not the FBI."Isla kept her voice neutral."We'll be in touch."
The cold hit them like a wall as they stepped outside.Isla walked in silence toward the SUV, processing what they'd learned, filing away impressions and observations.Behind them, DiMatteo's door closed with a thud that sounded almost desperate.
James unlocked the vehicle, and they climbed in—him behind the wheel, her in the passenger seat.He started the engine but didn't put it in gear, letting the heat begin to thaw the interior.
"Well?"he asked.
Isla stared out at DiMatteo's house, at the Christmas wreath still hanging on the door, at the curtains that had stopped twitching now that the show was over.
"He's not our guy."
James nodded slowly."Too frantic.Too eager to explain himself.A man who killed someone and hid the body in his own freezer wouldn't be that desperate to talk."
"He's a bad restaurant owner," Isla agreed."Probably cut corners somewhere that led to the salmonella, even if he can't admit it to himself.But he's not a killer.He doesn't have the...control.The patience."She thought about Monica Hayes's body, the careful positioning, the folded hands."Whoever did this took their time.They cared about how she looked when she was found."
She pulled out her phone and navigated to the photos she'd saved earlier—Maria Carlisle's image from the news article, Monica Hayes's LinkedIn headshot.She held the screen where James could see.
"Look at them again."
James studied the photos, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly."The resemblance is uncanny.Same hair color, same general features.If you weren't looking closely, you might mistake one for the other."
"A man loses his wife in a car accident.Sells the restaurant they built together because he can't stand to be reminded of her.DiMatteo said he seemed like a ghost, like something was eating him from the inside."Isla put the phone away, her mind already racing ahead."And then, eighteen months later, a woman who looks like his dead wife turns up murdered in that same restaurant.Posed carefully.Treated almost...tenderly."
James pulled the SUV out of the driveway, pointing them back toward the main road."We need to find Vincent Carlisle."
"Yes."Isla watched the houses slide past, their neat lawns and tidy facades hiding whatever darkness might lurk within."We need to find out exactly what kind of man he's become since he lost everything."
